


I Was Close To You

by HouseMoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Human
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseMoss/pseuds/HouseMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened and then Cas got married. That should have been the end of it. Except Dean is the only mechanic in town and apparently the only fool stupid enough to believe in second chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Close To You

“We can’t,” Dean said. What he should have said was something else, something honest. _This will break me,_ for starters, or _you’ll leave and take too much of me with you_.

Dean wasn’t good with words and people didn’t listen to him much anyway.

Castiel loomed heavy and dark like a shadow against the door, eyes tight and assessing. “But I want you.”

He said it with such little emotion, like it was an obvious thing. Like Dean should know this and just accept it.

“It’s not a good idea.” Dean’s words weren’t helping. He could tell by the way Cas stepped closer and pressed their bodies against the wall.

“You slept with that girl,” Cas accused, and now Dean could smell the alcohol on Cas’ breath. Dean shouldn’t have felt guilty, but he did. He wasn’t in a relationship with Cas, didn’t owe him anything, didn’t owe him _this_.

For God’s sake, Cas was getting married tomorrow.

But he wanted it. Wanted Cas since the first time they met. He knew the marriage wasn’t for love, didn’t sprout from mutual feelings and bloom into adoration that they wanted to promise for eternity.

Cas’ engagement wasn’t like the thing between him and Dean, so heated and intense, trapped between lingering touches and long stares from across the room. It wasn’t sacred and unspoken.

And when Dean picked up the girl from the bar at random, anything to drive away the loneliness and the ugly, jealous ache in his ribs, it felt like cheating. It felt like he was cheating on the man he never got to touch or kiss or be with for real.

Cas had no right to throw it in his face, not now, not on the eve of his big wedding to a wealthy alpha who could give him everything he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said anyway, not surprised that he meant it.

“I love you,” Cas whispered, and the vodka on his breath was stronger, more persistent in Dean’s face.

Dean felt the unyielding wall against his back, cold. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Just once, please,” Cas begged, and then he was in Dean’s face, his smooth skin against Dean’s stubble, hands pushing up against Dean’s shirt, searching for skin to cling to. “Please.”

Dean wanted so badly to give in, to let the smell of Cas surround him and drive him forward into a hungry kiss. He wanted to let instinct take over and take what should have been his, this beautiful omega all gentle and needy in his arms, to seek out the fragrant spot on his neck and claim him. But this thing between them had always been about more; not just sexual tension or some animalistic need to knot. 

Christ, Dean wasn’t even a romantic, but Castiel inspired things inside of him that always felt out of place. Ugly things, but lovelier things too. Lust and envy and a tender need to cuddle and nest.

So he pulled Cas in, a hug now to stifle Cas’ desperate bid for sex. He held Cas in his arms until he settled and sighed against Dean’s neck.

“Tell me you love me,” Cas said after it had been quiet for too long.

“What good would it do?”

Cas kissed along his collar bone. “I don’t want to be crazy. Tell me I’m not alone in this. It wasn’t all in my head.”

Though Dean’s chin rested on Cas’ shoulder, eyes staring out into the empty room, he offered his best attempt at reassurance with a tighter hold around Cas’ waist. Cas was too drunk to understand what was happening, the weight of it. They’d never brought their little dance to light: the unfair strip teases that were a bit too real and left them both feeling hot, the late nights when they’d fallen asleep on each other, always an accident, and the one and only kiss they ever shared that wasn’t supposed to count. It was just a half kiss, a dry one on the corner of Dean’s mouth when Cas was hopped up on painkillers after the accident.

This wouldn’t be happening if Cas were sober. Cold feet, that’s all it was.

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” Dean reminded him. It wasn’t fair to either of them. At least it wasn’t a lie.

Cas whirled out of Dean’s grip, shoving his way free, stepping back with a sudden urgency and sense of violent anger twisting his face. “It’s your fault,” he spits, all venom and ire, “you – you knew I loved you and you didn’t stop me.”

“Stop you?” Dean may not have been drunk, but he felt the same fury building that he could see so easily on Castiel. “And how was I supposed to do that? You having a fiancée wasn’t enough?”

“You could have told me to stay away,” Cas said, the anger slipping into something more sincere, more heartbroken.

“Then I’m telling you now. Go home and sober up.” He had to look nice for his wedding tomorrow, after all. Not hungover and especially not freshly fucked.

“No.” And then Cas moved forward and kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time, the dry half kiss that Dean brought himself to orgasm over for months afterward in the shower. It was impatient and almost impersonal, demanding, and Dean could feel the anger bleed through into the kiss, the bitterness flooding his mouth.

But Dean was only human; he couldn’t help himself. He kissed back. He tried to slow the pace to something he could control but Cas was adamant and unrelenting. Their teeth clacked and Dean’s lip stung where it split, too dry and opening too wide to accommodate Cas’ tongue. He had to push Cas back a little to keep from choking, to keep the burning taste of vodka from making him gag.

They broke apart for a grand total of two seconds before they brought their mouths back together, and this time the kiss was weaker, less urgent. It more about pleasure than punishment and it made all those lovely feelings rise to the surface again. They moved to the bed, limbs clutching and tangling, not wanting to let go even to get more comfortable.

Cas smelled wonderful once Dean was able to ignore the liquor, all soft and buttery and warm. Creamier still was the lusty need coming off his body in waves, so intoxicating, and Dean draped himself over the omega to keep all the delightful smells to himself.

They kissed for an endless time, long enough for Cas to start sobering up. Dean could tell by the way he took longer breaths and whined less and less, the way his body went pliant rather than loose and wild. Dean braced himself for the inevitable; Cas would apologize and break slowly away, blame the vodka, and ask if they could still be friends.

Instead, when Cas turned away and pinched his eyes close, he said, “Mate me.”

It was like every fantasy in Dean’s head had come true.

But it was too much on the verge of Cas’ commitment, too big in the face of something so permanent, that Dean couldn’t take him seriously. He almost felt used.

If Cas didn’t want to get married, he could just say so. He didn’t have to do this to Dean: put him in such an awkward position, get him ostracized and lose what little respect in the community he had, make him carry the guilt of mating someone’s fiancée the night before their wedding.

Dean may not be romantic, but he’s not that kind of alpha. He can’t be that careless.

“Cas,” he started, pushing himself up to brace his weight on his elbows, but Cas pulled him back down and bit lightly on his ear.

“Stop thinking so much and just do it,” Cas growled, hands shoving their way to Dean’s belt and tugging it off.

No one’s accused Dean of thinking too much before.

And damn the consequences anyway. Dean wasn’t a believer in fate, but maybe he had a feeling or two about karma and wasn’t it about time he got what he deserved? Didn’t he deserve this, to have just one thing he wanted so badly, when he gave the world everything it wanted of him?

He stripped Cas’ clothes off with a fumbling lack of efficiency – too many buttons, and why on earth did Cas have an undershirt? But finally, after several minutes of pulling and rolling and kicking off jeans, they were both naked and trembling, and admittedly a little sweaty.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked, because he _had_ to ask. He had to know.

“I’m the one begging here, Dean,” Cas said, voice so small he barely heard it.

It wasn’t everything Dean wanted it to be, but it was enough. Cas was sweet with slick and aching hard, and Dean’s knot was already threatening to pop, skin darkened and swelling around the base. He turned Cas over – not sure why, not when he wanted to see Cas’ face so badly and kiss him while he fucked into him – but then Cas was on his belly and Dean spread himself over the expanse of Cas’ back.

In another circumstance, if Cas was truly Dean’s omega, he would have taken his time. Made it special. That thought only intensified the anger Dean was starting to feel again, the confusion over why Cas was the only omega that made Dean feel that way, made him want to do stupid special crap and make it memorable.

Alphas aren’t supposed to pine over omegas they can’t have, are they? People don’t squirm and cry over someone else’s mate. The urge doesn’t exist.

He pushed in slowly, regretful that he couldn’t do more to open Cas up, but Cas felt wet and willing and the resistance was minimal. Ugh, such a clinical way to think about it. Maybe Cas was right. Maybe Dean thought too much.

Beneath him, Cas moaned and buried his face in the pillow, so Dean focused on that. He pulled out just as slow and thrust back in, and Cas moaned again, this time a little needier. A part of Dean felt distanced from this, like he was in the corner of the room watching them work up to good pace, like it wasn’t really happening to him. Half of him detached from the idea that he was actually following through with this, and the other half of him delighted in the scent and feel of his perfect omega, tight and hot, as he licked the beads of sweat from the back of Cas’ neck.

Cas was whimpering, and Dean could sense the omega’s honeyed pulse singing to him from that supple spot just to the right of his nape. He scraped his teeth over it, teasing as he worked them faster, his knot swelling and catching before he could stop it. The hot stretch of his omega was so fucking good that he nearly bit down and marked him up.

And Cas was babbling, moaning, begging for that mark, but all Dean could do to keep from ruining Cas’ life was grind down harder until Cas was coming on the sheets, panting and giving up. Dean had to bite the goddamn pillow to keep from going crazy and quiet the voices in his head, screaming at him to claim Cas and bite into that humming sweet spot until he tasted blood.

But when they’d both calmed down, breaths reaching a mellow tempo, Cas didn’t ask why Dean hadn’t done it. He didn’t keep begging for Dean to take him and make him his.

It was reassurance enough that Dean had done the right thing. That Cas would have regretted it.

Instead, they were locked together in the most uncomfortable silence, both of them pretending like they couldn’t hear Cas muffling a cry into the pillow he’d been moaning on minutes before.

Dean felt sick; disgusted with himself for being so selfish, for hurting his best friend. Cas had probably sobered up enough to be thinking of his fiancée and that made the tangle of guilt and remorse in his gut so much worse. He hated this. He hated himself.

It took nearly an hour for Dean’s knot to come down enough for him to slip out, and by then Cas had fallen asleep. They were in Dean’s home but he didn’t feel like he belonged there, not right now. He cleaned himself up and slipped on his shoes, and went for what felt like the longest run of his life through the lamp-lit streets of his neighborhood.

And in the morning, Dean put on his best smile and stood beside his friend at the altar, did his best-man duties, and gave some fake-ass speech at the reception that everyone adored and made Cas’ new husband laugh.

He drank too much afterward, not by accident or coincidence, and sixteen years passed before either of them spoke to each other again. Sixteen years in the same small town with the same small town friends and church.

They probably could have kept avoiding each other forever if it wasn’t for Cas’ bratty, entitled little punk of a daughter who got a car for her birthday and insisted on taking it into Dean’s shop for a tune up.

Only the best for little Violet Gallagher, after all – who, by the way, looked and smelled nothing like a goddamn flower.


End file.
